by Regina Darcy
His flat tone seemed uninspiring, even to him.
How could he explain to her that the debt no longer mattered? He could not confess that what he wanted was what Lathan, undeserving, had, and that was her heart and her trust.
“I abducted you and brought you here. And then I began to learn that not only was Lathan a scapegrace and a cad, which I already knew, but that he intended far worse. You were to be his means out of his indebtedness, and his mistress, your friend, was to replace you.”
A deathly silence descended between the both of them.
“Georgette, look at me.”
Upon hearing her Christian name leave his lips like a caress, Georgette reluctantly turned away from the view of the gardens to face him.
His features, which were always so animated with the vitality of his emotions, were subdued as if he were in the grips of feelings beyond his understanding or his control.
His vivid green eyes were composed, holding his turbulent thoughts at bay. The thick hair, unruly as always, alone was no different.
“You don’t believe me,” he said, studying her expression. “You believe her still. But you are not a fool, I see. You cannot credit such a venal nature to someone that you know and trust. You believe the letters are a forgery because your own good soul requires you to believe that. You cannot accept that this woman, this person you have regarded as a friend, is envious of you and covets what you have. She is no more in love with Lathan than he is with her. But because you would have him, she must have him and she must be the means by which you are disposed of. You enlisted her to help you learn more about the man your father chose as your husband and she took that charge and made it the means by which she would destroy you. Can you not see how she has engineered the design? Lathan himself congratulates her, in the earlier letters, when your engagement is imminent, for her scheme.”
Georgette exhaled wearily. She was too exhausted to think clearly.
The letters could not be true.
Valerie was trustworthy.
Lathan was her betrothed.
But in this jumbled mix of unmatched motives and events, the centre of the puzzle was the man in front of her, the Duke of Summersby. That was unexpected, certainly.
He had been the carriage driver for most of the time that she had known him and yet she had found that identity impossible to believe. But why should a duke, even one with a motive to retrieve an alleged debt, be provoked to such outrageous methods? He did not seem mad.
Perhaps she was mad.
Because when he, possessed by despair and desire, reached for her, she went into his embrace willingly, knowing as she did so that he was her enemy.
But there was only hunger in the kiss that they shared, a deep, sating hunger that recognised the need that drove it. It was a hunger that could not be satisfied as long as they were on opposite sides of a chasm so wide that it would not allow either to cross to the other.
The kiss that they exchanged was, for the Duke, searing; for Georgette, it was transformative. It alerted each of them to the fact that they had found, in each other, what they had not known they longed for. That such longing did not have a place in the lives they knew was a dilemma neither knew how to solve.
As they pulled away from each other their gaze locked. Georgette let her fingers dance over her swollen lips, the taste of him still lingering on them. The Duke’s eyes were fixated on her fingers, his gaze following them as if, it was him caressing her lips’ soft plumpness.
The desire that blazed in his eyes had Georgette catching her breath. Suddenly he clenched his fists, turned on his heel and left.
Georgette was left engulfed in longing and confusion. Full of despair she crept on to her bed. As tears silently fell down her cheeks, she tucked her feet underneath her, closed her eyes and sobbed her heart out.
***
James could not sleep that night. When he met with Miss Wright in the morning, there were dark half-moons under his eyes that testified to a night without rest.
“She doesn’t believe it,” he said abruptly.
Miss Wright, who had learned from one of the servants of what had passed on the balcony, was surprised.
“She does not believe the letters or the list?” she repeated as if she could not have heard him correctly.
“Nothing. She believes nothing. She regards Miss Duncan as her friend and holds that the Viscount is the victim of a conspiracy to discredit him. The documents, she believes, are forgeries.”
“I see. Then she must learn that they are not.”
James looked up hopefully. His sleepless night had left him with the feeling that there was nothing that he could do to convince Georgette of the truth. If she would not believe him, or the letters, or the list of debts, and she married Lathan, she was doomed. James knew that he could not keep her a prisoner forever, particularly now that he had revealed his identity to her.
But their kiss . . . she was an innocent, inexperienced woman, he knew that. She had not responded to other men as she had responded to him. He knew that as well, and knew that whatever kisses she had received from the Viscount would have been the polite, almost impersonal intimacies that were permitted between an engaged couple.
James, on the other hand, was not innocent and was certainly not inexperienced. He had enjoyed the pleasures of women with no thought of emotional engagement. The kiss that he had given and received yesterday was nothing like anything he had ever experienced before, which was saying a great deal, because he was not a monk.
Discretion did not mean abstinence.
Yet he could not imagine kissing another woman but Georgette now that he had sampled the passionate nectar of her lips. She had opened his eyes to a level of desire that was entirely unfamiliar to him… was this what it felt like to be in love? Desire beyond reason, longing beyond endurance?
He desperately needed a solution to this stalemate.
“The only solution is to entrap the Viscount where Lady Georgette will have no doubt that he has been the malefactor in this enterprise,” Miss Wright said.
“Yes . . . if she will even allow me to pursue that means of proof,” he said as gloom descended upon him. “How can I prove that he is what I know him to be?”
“Rather, you must prove that he is not what she believes him to be,” Miss Wright corrected him.
“It is one and the same.”
“I beg your pardon but it is not, Your Grace,” she disputed with her usual diplomacy. “She does not know vice as you know it.”
James’ eyebrows rose. “That does not sound at all complimentary,” he commented.
“Consider Lady Georgette. At the age of sixteen, when most young girls of her station are leaving the schoolroom so that they may prepare for their coming out and marriage, she was suddenly stricken by the serious, debilitating illness of the mother she loved. Rather than allowing a nurse to take over the task of caring for her mother, she forsook her girlish aspirations and became an adult without undergoing the rite of passage by which a girl becomes a woman. She did not think of her own future. She turned away from society and the place that she, as the daughter of an earl, would have had in it. All her love went to her mother’s care. Suddenly, her father finds a husband for her. She is resistant at first. She knows nothing of the man, and so she enlists the aid of her friend from school to find out more about his character. She knows no one in society who would be able to give her truthful information about his licentious behaviour.
Miss Duncan, who has long resented the fact that her school-friend has a place in society that will never be open to a girl whose parents are honest, but not aristocrats, finds that she has a way into that exalted domain. That it requires the dispatching of one who thinks of Miss Duncan as a friend does not prevail. Miss Duncan wants a luxurious lifestyle, a title, a place in the ton. It is there, within her reach. She finds that the Viscount is marrying for money not love. He wants the Parsonville wealth and is amenable to disposing of the woman who can bring
that wealth to him.”
“Go on,” James directed when she paused.
“How can you expect Lady Georgette to comprehend such evil? It is totally beyond her experience or her own character. Her father has chosen this man for her and she trusts her father. You would not expect her to believe that her father is a party to the scheme.”
“Of course not. He is guilty of choosing in haste, but not of wishing to throw his daughter to the wolves.”
“Precisely. Just as Lady Georgette trusts her father, she trusts her friend, Miss Duncan, who assures her that her father has chosen wisely and well. The Viscount fills the role that Miss Duncan by design, and the Earl, by ignorance, have created for him. Of course Lady Georgette believes that the marriage proposal is genuine and for love, that the Viscount is a man whose wealth matches his station, and that her friend is joyous at her good fortune.
Your Grace on the other hand, a complete stranger, kidnapped her. Milord brought her to a place that is unknown to her and kept her prisoner. She has no foreknowledge of your character and no reason to trust Your Lordship.
Milord then presents her with documents attesting to the dishonourable repute of her trusted friend and her fiancé and expects her to believe the documents, and his word, rather than Miss Duncan and the Viscount. Can Your Grace not see why she is adamant?”
“You present the case most persuasively,” James replied grudgingly. “I suppose there is merit in what you say. But if I release her and she goes to Lathan, you and I both know that she will not live long afterwards. Miss Duncan will want her reward for providing him with so convincing a testimonial to his character and that reward requires that he become a widower as soon as possible after Lady Georgette’s dowry is safely in his account.”
“Your Lordship must ask Lady Georgette if she will willing to put Lathan to the test. She cannot refuse. If she believes him to be true, she must accept the opportunity for him to prove it. Such a test is easy to arrange. Send a note, unsigned, to the Viscount, to let him know that the whereabouts of Lady Georgette has been discovered. For a fee, the whereabouts will be revealed. Up to that point, there is nothing incriminating against the Viscount and he will most likely accede to a meeting. Your Grace will choose the meeting place and will—accompanied by Lady Georgette—be there in advance, waiting. And hiding.”
“As the Viscount is unlikely to be able to lay his hands on any ready cash,” James pointed out, “I fail to see how this ploy will come to pass.”
“He will meet,” Miss Wright said with assurance. “But he will need to know the price of the information.”
“Yes, and he has no money, I told you.”
“You forget, Your Grace,” Miss Wright said. “He expects to have money as soon as he marries Lady Georgette. Your agent will be acting according to your instructions. He will want to know when he can be paid and by what means, as he will make it obvious that he is aware of the precarious state of the Viscount’s finances.”
“You think that Lathan will divulge his intentions?”
“I think that he will see nothing amiss in admitting that he needs to marry an heiress in order to save his estate and himself from insolvency. It is commonly done in society, is it not? Heiresses marry lords for the exchange of what each brings to the marriage. Your agent must be a man who appears as if he is not likely to be dismayed by learning of such calculating methods. He must appear to be one who will do anything for financial gain, regardless of whether it is outside the law or not. He must give nothing away. He must be someone who comes across as willing to take any risk in exchange for money. I trust you know a man whose character would indicate that he will stoop to any depths in order to do this.”
“I know just the man,” James replied with a satisfied smile.
***
Edwards was more than willing to be the agent for his former superior officer.
“I’m your man,” he said cheerfully when James explained the plan. “This chap sounds like a rotter, if you don’t mind me saying so against one of ‘is station.”
“He’s a rotter,” James agreed. “Where do you suggest the meeting ought to take place?”
“Oh, no question,” Edwards said, his round face alight. “You remember, I told yer I’ve me eye on a pub to buy. It’s perfect for a meeting like this. There’s an ‘and some upstairs room, private, for gentlemen, you mind, and there’s a room adjoining it. Very entertaining things go on in the rooms, you see. You can be ‘iding in there, where you can ‘ear all that is said. When the time is right, you can appear and ‘aul the chap off to the magistrate.”
“First things first,” James said. “He must believe that you are entirely in agreement with whatever he tells you, even if it’s murder.”
“As long as ‘e ain’t murdering me, sir,” Edwards said, “I reckon I can convince ‘im.”
“I reckon you can, at that. All right. Send him the note with this information on it. Rewrite it in your own scrawl so that he believes it’s genuine.”
“Scrawl, is it?” Edwards said. “I’ll ‘ave you know I have very proper ‘and writing.”
“Then disguise it. I want Lathan to believe that you are a down-and-outer who is desperate to trade information for money.”
“Oh, well, then, if that’s the way it plays,” Edwards shrugged amiably. “I’ll send the letter. This the address?”
“Yes, that’s his London home.”
“Right, then,” Edwards delivered a half-salute, a remnant of his military days. “I’ll let you know when the meeting is set.”
“Good. I’m counting on you, Edwards.”
The man beamed. “You always can, sir. Just like old days.”
TEN
James thought that he would have to convince Georgette to participate in the rouse, but to his relief, she was agreeable to the plan.
“You are that sure of him?” James inquired, his eyes dark and unfathomable.
She raised her head to meet his gaze.
“Why should I not be?”
James could not answer. Ever since their searing kiss, their interaction had been awkward. They were both behaving as if it had never happened but no amount of denial could erase the fire that burned between them. As he left the room and stopped to lock her in, he felt as if he was the worst of villains in her eyes.
Would she ever forgive him?
***
Georgette went to the balcony. It was an overcast day. Rain threatened but had not yet begun to fall, although she could sense its presence in the air and in the heavy, portentous clouds in the sky above. Perhaps a storm was what was needed, she thought. A storm that would blow away all the clouds and leave her with a clear understanding of what she believed and what she hoped, because her mind and her heart seemed to be engaged in a civil war.
She felt as if she were existing in a state of limbo. She was a prisoner of a man who remained a mystery to her, although she doubted that he regarded himself in that light.
James, or the Duke of Summersby, which was his full title, was not a dissembler. His masquerade as a carriage driver had been a matter of donning a costume, no more. He was, she sensed, an honest man. It did not make any sense at all. Nor, when he left her room, was there any sense in the fact that she wished he had stayed. Her heart ached like it was being torn asunder. Georgette walked back out to her balcony and stared at the gardens, her mind in turmoil.
When the time came for the meeting, James sent written instructions with the footman who brought her meal to her. As she ate, her appetite having returned now that she sensed that, for good or ill, a resolution would be forthcoming, she read his note. She was to wear a dark cloak over whatever outfit of his sister’s wardrobe she chose. He suggested that she select her attire for its comfort and simplicity.
When he came to her room later in the evening, as dusk was falling, she saw that he had dressed to be inconspicuous, in the garb of one of the grooms rather than his usual tailoring. He nodded approvingly at her selection.
James mounted his horse. “What do you mean?”
“After the Viscount proves his innocence and you must concede that you are wrong, of course. What then?”
“My Lady,” he said, “let us see what the night brings before we make future plans. I will ask you this, however. Do not reveal our presence when we are in the room.”
Georgette suddenly became aware that James had his hand on her bare arm. A tingle of awareness raced through her as his fingers trailed sensuously down her arm. She swallowed hard before replying, “I will not. There is no reason for me to do so.”
“Your word of honour?”
“Certainly. I will remain silent.”
“I am depending upon you,” he whispered, the timber of his voice sending delicious chills down her spine.
“You certainly are,” she finally managed to reply. “I am not sure what the punishment for abduction is, but I am sure that the Viscount and my father will demand it.”
“Are you so eager to see me dangling from a noose?”
She didn’t answer. He wished that he dared to kiss her again, but the tension between them, some of it caused by the desire which flared up whenever they were near each other, the rest ignited by the hostility which separated them, remained a barrier.
She rode well. As the dusk descended into darkness, the horse he had chosen for Lady Georgette benefitted from its rider’s skill with the reins. James’ own horse, well accustomed to his master’s unpredictable schedule by day or by night, had no difficulty finding his way. They rode in silence, the Duke and the Earl’s daughter, well aware that the events of the night would forever alter their lives.